Birth Day
by CeeCeeSings
Summary: A one-shot fic-let meant as a companion piece/epilogue-of-sorts to "The Art of Opportunity". Set within that story's narration, eight months later, the day Maggie delivers her baby. Established Caryl. Sweet snapshot. Enjoy!


**A/N: Clearly the Caryl muse was still running around on her hamster wheel, because this just kinda happened. Hope you all, especially those that were clamoring for a AoO epilogue, enjoy. ;) ~ CeeCee**

It's still chilly in the mornings, though thankfully, he feels that they are finally putting the winter behind them. The milky, early morning April sunlight stains the prison yard and woods beyond a creamy yellow as he makes his way back to the prison and C Block.

The winter's been a tough one: they lost three elderly former Woodbury residents to a nasty bout of flu that hit nearly everyone. Hershel and Carol had quarantined Maggie and the two other pregnant women in the group, along with Li'l Asskicker and David, for the duration. Both of them had ministered to the sick for what seemed like twenty-four hours a day, toiling for several weeks without rest, until Hershel came down with it as well, starting one day as doctor and finishing it as patient. Michonne, of all people, stepped in for awhile to assist Carol, and her quiet demeanor and physical strength were welcome tools in soothing the sick.

Carol, who, during that hectic, frightening time, would come back to the cell they now shared, collapse on the bunk for a few hours, get up, and do it all again until her mind or body forced her back to rest. If he was there, he'd place a pillow on his leg, she'd sigh gratefully, and curl up next to him. While she slept, he'd read one of those damned mystery novels she leaves everywhere, place his hand gently on her growing curls, and wonder why the hell he'd fought feeling this content, this safe, for so long.

Now, he enters the kitchen, snags a piece of bread and a mug of the very strong coffee that's always brewing. At dawn, the kitchen is slowly filling up, with the watch shifts switching out and a hunting party getting ready to head out into the woods. He nods, says hello to a few people on his way back to their cell. He's still taciturn, but more approachable now. He's mellowed, and he knows it. He leaves the door to his heart, which she unlocked with dogged persistence, cracked open an inch or two these days. And he's a better man for it.

He climbs the stairs to the catwalk, pushes aside the bed sheets they've hung over the entryway for a modicum of privacy. In the dim light of the cell her curled, sleeping form is like a human comma on the cot. He kicks his shoes off, peels off only the outermost layer of clothing, shivers in the chill, and slides under the multiple layers of quilts containing her warmth. She makes a small noise, reaches for his hand, wraps his arm around her. Her breathes in the sleepy smell of her and immediately drifts off.

He feels like he just closed his eyes when a voice startles him awake.

"Carol! Carol, sorry it's so early, but Daddy needs you," Daryl recognizes Beth's voice, on the other side of the sheets, standing on the catwalk. She sounds excited, a little nervous. Carol stirs in his arms, pushes herself upright. Looks back at him, smiles, stretches.

"Is it Maggie?" She calls out softly. She's standing, pulling her chin-length hair into a short ponytail at the nape of her neck. Throws a long-sleeved t-shirt over her tank top. Pours a glass of water, pulls the curtain aside. Daryl can see a puff of Beth's blond hair and one wide, blue eye.

"Yes. It started 'bout three in the morning, but she's coming along now, and Daddy's gettin' jumpy," Beth responds. Carol downs her water, comes over to the cot, bends and presses her warm lips to his cheek.

"See you later," she whispers. "Go back to sleep."

"Good luck," he responds, pulls her back down for a more lingering smooch.

"I've got to go," she laughs, pushes him back down on the bed. And then she's gone.

oooOOOooo

She hurries after Beth, shaking the sleep from her mind and and pushing back the memory of the last time she did this exact thing, rushing after the blond teenager to another birthing bed: Marie. Poor Marie, who wanted her baby so badly, in his own right and as a living testament to his dead father. Marie, whose life was burned up by the sepsis that ran through her. They had learned, she and Hershel, and now they had a makeshift hospital set up in the prison's infirmary, away from the main living quarters, making a sterile environment (as much as humanly possible) their priority.

Hershel had done it initially for his daughter, but other pregnancies had followed. Hope, and what makes babies, Carol grins. Nothing more human than that. She'd said that to Daryl all those months ago, right when everything was beginning for them, and her grin widens. She's had a lot more of both in her life since then. Since...ever, really. Aside from the few months after Sophia was born, she's never experienced so much simple contentment in her life.

She thinks of him pulling her down for a longer kiss a few moments ago. There have been many revelations for her over the past half year or so, but the biggest is his endless capacity for affection. Once the walls around his heart and body had crumbled, she was surprised at the depth of it, of it's hunger. They had both been so hungry. But she, at least, had known it, had known what that empty ache in her heart and loins had been crying out for. He...hadn't realized. And now he did. And he was sometimes a little greedy about it. But she certainly didn't mind.

There were a few months there, in the cold, ruthless heart of winter, where they thought, perhaps, maybe, she'd be joining the ranks of expectant mothers, but it wasn't to be. She knew it was a long shot, in her heart, but the heart can be foolish, especially a well-loved heart. She had cried a little about it, but he had said to her: _You're _already_ a momma to so many kid_s.

And it was true, she thinks, as she and Beth pass through the kitchen. Donna, at the stove with a chubby David in her arms, hands her a cup of coffee as she walks by. She tickles the baby under his chin, runs her hands through his glossy brown curls, and he hiccups laughter at her, a shiny line of spit distending from his fat, pink lips. Ellie, Conner and Sarah wave sleepily to her from over their bowls of oatmeal, and she kisses each of them on their touselled heads. No child could ever replace Sophia, whom she still misses so much sometimes her bones ached, but she is grateful in her mother's heart to have little ones to love and fuss over.

She and Beth make their way to the more desolate area of the prison where the infirmary is set up, and Carol soon hears Maggie's groans and labored breathing. Beth hovers at the doorway; Carol enters the room to find the expectant mother on her feet, walking ponderously around the well-lit space. The only other two people in the room are men: her father and Glenn. Hershel is watching his daughter carefully, with a pained expression on his face. Maggie seems to be doing just fine at first glance, but Carol understands: his daughter is experiencing something he can intellectually grasp but cannot fully appreciate. Her labor is a burden he cannot take away, relieve her of. Glenn looks like someone who's been up since the wee hours of the morning, who also happens to have been smacked over the head with a frying pan.

"Carol," Maggie gasps, and tears pop into her eyes. "So glad..." she reaches out and grasps her hands. "So glad you're here." The men have disappeared, for the moment. They are important, vital, but it's the two mothers in the room right now.

"You are getting on like a champ, looks like," Carol smiles at her, wipes away her tears. _A momma to so many_...She looks over Maggie's head, finally, at Hershel.

"How you doin' Grandpa?"

"Like I need a drink," Hershel responds, but his face is serene.

"That's not funny, Daddy," Maggie pants out. She sits again. Glenn and Carol help her up on to an examining table covered with pillows and several blood-stained sheets.

"Wasn't meant to be, my dear," he responds, and she looks over at him. Cracks a smile, winces as another contraction hits her.

"How about you, Dad?" Carol smiles over Maggie's enormous stomach at Glenn. He's pale, awestruck.

"Drink sounds great about now," he laughs a little hysterically.

"Says the guy not trying to shove another human being out of himself," Maggie barks, and Glenn brushes his hand over her sweaty forehead. Her face softens and she squeezes his hand tightly.

While they are both distracted, she checks a few things. Maggie grimaces a little, lets out a small mewling sound. Relief fills Carol. Everything looks fantastic. This baby, this mother, are going to be just fine.

oooOOOooo

Maggie and Glenn's daughter is born around four o'clock that afternoon. She is fat, smooshed, pink, and her dark hair is plastered to her forehead. She is beautiful. Maggie, exhausted and triumphant, nuzzles the small bundle at her breast. Glenn bends over his daughter, pressing his nose into her tender skull. Hershel stands with his arm around Beth at the foot of the bed. Carol cleans Maggie and herself up, promising to return in a few hours.

"Carol," Maggie calls sleepily. She turns.

"Too confusing to have two of you," Maggie says, nonsensically. Carol is puzzled, waits, a small smile on her face. "Too confusing. What's your middle name?" Glenn looks up and over at Carol at Maggie's question, grins broadly.

"Louise," she replies. Tears are coming. She's tired.

"Louise," Maggie repeats, brushing a finger over her daughter's tiny nose. "Louise. Lulu. I like it."

"Me too," Hershel and Glenn sigh, at the same time. Carol leaves the little family with their new addition.

oooOOOooo

Late afternoon, he steps outside for a smoke, letting folks know where he's going so she can find him. He's got night watch again, and he has something for her. He know he can leave it for her, but he selfishly wants to see her open it. He also knows he can wait until tomorrow, but it's not the same. He wants her to have it today, if he's got the calendar date right. Time is slippery, anymore, but he thinks he's right.

It's tuck under his arm, the gift, wrapped in old newspapers. He had been talking idly one night with Jimmy on watch a few weeks ago, to pass the long, cold night. He wasn't a bad guy at all. Somehow, they'd gotten on before, and what Jimmy had done before: he'd been a police sketch artist.

"_No shit," Daryl eyed the burly guy, who looked more like a criminal than a guy who drew them. Never can tell by lookin'...It sets him thinkin' though._

_"Can you still do it? Draw, I mean?"_

_"Yeah, 'course, I sketch all the time," Jimmy laughed, lit a cigarette, passed one to Daryl. "Got a thug you want me to draw?"_

_"Nah, man," he responded, thinking hard. "Nah. But...can you draw a kid? I mean, if I describe her real good?"_

_Jimmy nodded, "Sure. Tell me what you have in mind."_

_Daryl began explaining..._

oooOOOooo

She finds him just as the sun is turning the sky indigo and orange. She's bundled up in a giant cream-colored wool sweater and a colorful tasseled hat her students had given her for Christmas. She's grinning ear to ear. She pulls up next to him, looks at the sunset.

"Louise," she says, her voice filled with happiness and satisfaction. "Little Lulu."

"Oh, yeah?" Daryl smiles, pleased that Maggie and Glenn chose to honor their nurse and friend in this special way. "Cute?"

"Ugly as sin," Carol responds, laughing. "But they all are, at first. Like little monkeys or aliens or something. But yes...she's beautiful."

"And Maggie? Glenn?"

"Happy and resting. She'll be fine," her voice makes it clear there's no other option. She rubs her hands together, jumps up and down a little.

"Cold?"

"No," she smiles at him, pecks his cheek. "Just...jazzed up. I know I should be dead on my feet, to turn a phrase, but..." she grins, shrugs.

"Here," he thrusts the rectangular package into her hands, lights a cigarette. Resists the old, nagging habit of averting his eyes.

"What's this?" She looks flummoxed.

"Your birthday, isn't it? Did you think I'd forget?"

She bursts out laughing. "I didn't even knew you knew it to forget it! Besides, who knows exactly what date it is anymore?" She shakes the gift, to ascertain what it is, to no avail.

"Close enough, then," he smiles. "Open it."

She grins like a kid, rips through the paper. Looks down at the object in her hand, in the pink light of sunset. Holds the gift up. Her face is still, lovely, sad but serene, as she gazes at it. Jimmy's pastel drawing of Sophia, as described by him in exquisite detail, sits in a simple silver frame, smiling shyly at them. She doesn't speak, and he worries. Worries that he's wrong. She grips the portrait in both hands, the wrapping falling to the ground like autumn leaves. She puts her fingers on the glass.

"I love you, you know," she turns to him. His heart leaps. She's said it before, in the past few months, but not too often. She is careful with him, with herself. But when does she say it, she says it generously, never expecting to hear it in return. He knows, she knows, how he feels. But for a man like him, words are parsed out carefully. Especially the most important ones.

"Yeah, I do," he throws his smoke aside, puts his hands on her face, tugging the tassels on her hat a little. She smiles up at him, her eyes shining with tears. He opens his mouth, unsure of what is going to come out, but overwhelmed, as he is sometimes these days, with gratitude and happiness. "And...I love you. With everything I've got."


End file.
